“Well, he wouldn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“Because you’re a pretty girl. You’re probably the only pretty girl who’s ever talked to him. He’s too stunned to growl.”
Georgie tried not to watch for Neal. She tried to play it cool when she saw him. But she usually found an excuse to walk back to the production room a few minutes after he got there. Sometimes she’d pretend she had to talk to one of the other artists. Sometimes, she’d walk right up to Neal’s drafting table and lean against the wall, waiting for him to acknowledge her.
Seth was an idiot: Neal wasn’t fat. Just sort of soft-looking. Small and strong, without any corners.
“You’re lurking,” Neal said that night. The princess-chicken night.
Georgie had meandered back to the production room and was leaning idly against a pillar near his table. “I’m not lurking,” she said. “I just didn’t want to startle you.”
“Do you think you’re startling?”
This week’s comic strip was more complicated than usual. One panel with lots of characters. Neal had started inking at one corner.
She craned her head over the table. “I wouldn’t want you to jump and spill ink all over your drawing.”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t.”
“You might,” she said.
“I don’t jump.”
“Nerves of steel, huh?”
Neal shrugged.
“So,” she said, “I could sneak up behind you and, I don’t know, scream, and you wouldn’t even flinch.”
“Probably not.”
Georgie pulled a wheeled stool over and sat across from him. “But I could be an ax murderer.”
“You couldn’t.”
“I could.”
“Georgie McCool, ax murderer . . .” He cocked his head, like he was considering it. “No. You couldn’t.”
“But you wouldn’t know it was me sneaking up on you,” she said.
“I’d know it was you.”
“How?”
He looked up at her for a second, then went back to his work. “You have a very distinct presence.”
“Distinct?”
“Palpable,” Neal said.
Georgie tried not to smile. “Is that a compliment?”
“I don’t know, do you want it to be?”
“Do I want people to know when I walk into a room?”
“Do you want me to know?”
“I . . .”
Neal glanced up over her shoulder, then looked back down. “Your boyfriend needs you.”
Georgie spun partway around. Seth was standing in the doorway, his smile falsely bright. “Hey. Georgie. Could I get you to look at something?”
She squinted at him, trying to suss out whether he really needed her help or whether he was just being obstructionist. “Um, sure,” she said, “just a minute.”
He waited in the doorway.
“Just. A minute,” she said again, pointedly raising her eyebrows at him.
Seth nodded, already pouting, and backed away.
Georgie stood up. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Ah,” Neal said, inking a smile onto a cartoon rabbit. “Conjoined twin?”
“Writing partner.” She reluctantly made for the door.
“Writing partner,” Neal murmured, going about his business.
Seth hadn’t really needed her help—of course he hadn’t. (And he’d eaten everything good out of her dinner.)
“I knew you were crying wolf,” she said, pushing the take-out container onto his side of the desk. “Next time I’m going to ignore you.”
“I wasn’t crying wolf.” He scooted his chair closer to hers. “I was crying hobbit.”
“What if I did this to you when you were on the make?”
“Oh God, Georgie, take it back. You can’t be on the make with the cartoon hobbit.”
“I never pass judgment on any of your girlfriends.”
“Because they’re all nice and gorgeous. Uniformly. God, they should wear uniforms, isn’t that a delicious idea?”
“The point is—I get to do this, Seth. I get to talk to guys. Do you want me to spend the rest of my life alone?”
“No. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then back off.”
He leaned forward, resting an elbow on her armrest. “Are you lonely, Georgie? Do you have needs?”
“I said back off.”
“Because you could tell me about your needs,” he said. “I think our friendship is ready for that.”
“I hate you.”
“Where ‘hate’ equals ‘love’ and also ‘can’t live without.’”
“I’m ignoring you now.”
“Wait, I really do need your help with this.” He turned his computer monitor toward her and pointed. “Is this funny? It’s a Snoopy/Snoop Dogg thing, and every time Charlie Brown tries to feed him, he’s like, ‘Thanks, Chizzuck.’ . . .”
The next time Seth tried to interrupt her while she was talking to Neal, Georgie really did ignore him. She sent him away with an “I’m sure it can wait.”
That made Neal look almost all the way up from his comic strip. He raised an eyebrow, and the side of his lips curved up into a closed-mouth smile.
Neal had nice lips.
Maybe everybody had nice lips, and you only really noticed it when you stared at their mouths all the time.
Georgie stared at Neal’s mouth all the time.
It was easy to stare at Neal because he was always looking down at his comic; there was no danger of getting caught. And it was easy to stare at Neal because Neal was easy to stare at.
Maybe not breathtaking. Not the way Seth could be when he was all dressed up and posing and he’d just run his fingers through his hair.
Neal didn’t take Georgie’s breath away. Maybe the opposite. But that was okay—that was really good, actually, to be near someone who filled your lungs with air.
Georgie just liked to look at Neal. She liked his dark-but-not-very-dark hair. She liked his pale skin. Neal was so pale, even on his cheeks and the backs of his short, broad hands. Georgie wasn’t sure how anyone could stay that pale, walking around campus all day. Maybe Neal carried a parasol. Anyway, it made his lips seem really pink, in comparison.
Neal’s lips were first-rate—small and neat and symmetrical. Horizontally symmetrical, the top lip almost exactly the same thickness as the bottom. There were even matching dents, one just above his top lip and one just below his bottom lip. A permanent, 20 percent pucker.
Of course Georgie thought about kissing him.
Probably everybody thought about kissing Neal, once they’d gotten a good look at him. That was probably why he was so loath to make eye contact with anyone—crowd control.
Neal was drawing something now in the margin of his comic strip. A girl. Glasses, heart-shaped face . . . hair coiling in every direction. Then he drew a thought bubble: “I can’t stay back here all day. Comedy needs me!”
Georgie worried she was blushing. “Am I bothering you?”
Neal shook his head. “This can’t be exciting for you.”
“It’s not exciting, it’s . . . mesmerizing. It’s like watching somebody do magic.”
“I’m drawing a hedgehog wearing a monocle.”
“It’s like you can make anything you want come out of your hands,” she said. “That’s magic.”
“Maybe if it were an actual hedgehog coming out of my hand.”
“I’m sorry.” She sat up in her chair. “I’ll let you work.”
“I can work with you here.” He didn’t look up.
“But—”
“I can even work if you talk.”
Georgie settled back in the chair, hesitantly. “Okay.”